Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

"That was a true feat ofhaiya!" R'lar exclaimed.

Others added their congratulations. Alemar and Elenya hid their own incredulousness. Even Lonal, up at the crest of the hill with the lookouts, was gazing at Shigmur with envy.

No wonder the Zyraii people had a reputation for being fierce.

The twins climbed up to the vantage point. The caravan was emerging from a series of low, weather-pocked hills and was now threading its way west, to the rugged terrain in which the Zyraii were hidden, across the small flatland that marked the border of T'lil territory, where Shigmur had issued his challenge. This was the main trade route between Azurajen and Surudain.

"Where is the end of it?" Elenya asked, trying to determine where the line of wagons stopped. "Are they all this big?"

"No," Lonal answered. "This is the largest I have seen."

They waited. Finally the tail end reached the valley floor. In the meantime, the lead wagons reined up. Their passengers climbed out and began setting up camp, though it was still early in the afternoon.

"They won't dare the hills at night," Lonal deduced.

"It was as the Olot and the Alyr told us," one of the seconds said. "They have no intention of paying us our rightful tithe."

"They smell the fort two days behind them, and it gives them confidence," Lonal said.

"What can you do about it?" Alemar asked.

"We will fight."

"What?" Elenya exclaimed. "Where are you going to get the warriors? Can't you see how many men-at-arms are riding next to those wagons?"

"It is a matter of honor. They have ignored our rights. We can't let the precedent be set. The T'lil is the last tribe on this route with the might to challenge them. We'll attack tonight."

Ret a Jheheph sent away his concubine. He would have no women tonight. He was waiting for a different kind of excitement. He sucked his pipe and waited, in a soft chair, staring out at the moonlit terrain.

He could almost hear the minds of the barbarians. He sniggered. They would not have any ideas that he had not already anticipated.

Not far away, three men waited next to a dim lantern. At first glance, one would not say that they resembled each other. The first was obese, with a heavy black beard and clothing similar to a guard. The second was gaunt and balding, wearing gauzy, effeminate robes. The third was small, wrinkled, and very brown, dressed in only a loin clout and headband. Nevertheless, they were the same in one respect.

They all waited, Jheheph with the calm of the man whose money has always bought him what he wanted, the three others with the vigilant attitude of craftsmen called upon to perform their very best work.

Suddenly the sentries began to shout.

In the muted light of the moons, Jheheph could see a line of shadowy, four-legged shapes bearing toward the caravan from all directions. Within a few moments, he could hear the beat of oeikani hooves.

The small brown man cried out and pointed at the sky.

For a moment, it seemed as if stars were falling. Then the streaks became fire arrows, which landed between and upon the wagons and coaches. The sentries ducked behind cover and wielded their own bows, sighting their targets whenever the riders lit fresh arrows.

Just as he had predicted. Jheheph smiled.

Women began pouring out of the wagons and tents, collecting in the center of the encampment, out in the open. They knew the Zyraii code would save them from harm – as long as they stayed out of the battle and out of the way. Jheheph's concubines lorded it over the slave girls.

Most of the fire arrows did no damage. Some struck the dust, some bounced off the starched hides placed on the wagons specifically to fend off such attacks, others changed direction at the last instant and fell wide. The three men by the lantern concentrated, keeping their eyes on the sky, focused on each new volley.

A few wagons were not so lucky. Their owners rushed to try and smother the flames with blankets or sand. But their efforts were often futile; the Zyraii had treated their missiles with oil. Soon several wagons became bonfires.

None of Jheheph's own were touched, however. He sucked another lungful from his pipe, enjoying the narcotic buzz, amused by the frantic activity around him. After all, the less merchandise that arrived in Surudain, the more valuable the remaining goods would be. And those would be his.

The three men were sweating now, though they had never risen from their positions. They were stretching their skills to the limit. A pity, thought Jheheph. Good sorcerers were scarce in the Eastern Deserts. Moreover, those with real talent were seldom for hire; they seemed to have their own methods of making themselves rich. But these would do. If he could make it through the Zyraii web just once without being forced to pay the tithe, all the merchants of the Sea of Azu would flock to be part of his caravans.

The twins answered Lonal's summons, joining him on the hilltop from which he had chosen to observe the battle. They could see fires burning below them, but not nearly as many as there should have been.

"They are using sorcery," Lonal stated.

Alemar nodded. "They are creating wards around the wagons. Certain magicians have the talent."

"Whatever it is, it's effective. I need your help."

Alemar exchanged glances with Elenya. They had been expecting this, ever since they had first detected the spells. They had agreed upon an answer.

"No."

Lonal scowled. "You mean you don't have the skill?"

"No, we could probably do something. We simply don't wish to."

"I see," the war-leader said flatly. "You were willing to fight the Buyul."

"We had no choice. They attacked us."

"You're trying my patience. If you won't be warriors, you might as well stay in camp and be shepherds."

"If necessary," Alemar said.

Lonal turned toward Elenya and met the same determined refusal in her expression.

"To hell with you, then," Lonal told them. "We will fight without your help."

As Shigmur's oeikani deftly avoided a shrub, the war-second realized how much easier it was to see his surroundings. He glanced to the horizon. Motherworld had risen. He lit one more arrow and let it fly, then retreated out of bowshot. The rest of the Zyraii riders did the same.

The caravan had suffered, but not greatly. Shigmur had seen some of his own shots swing wide, and knew that his tribe's marksmanship was not to blame. He saw several Zyraii bodies on the ground nearer the wagons, and even more dead oeikani. Their archers were good. Furthermore, the night had never become properly dark. Serpent Moon and Urthey had not set, and now Motherworld was up, bright and more than half-full, with the Sister soon to follow. Not only would they would be easier targets now, but he could see some of the caravan guards mounting their oeikani in order to chase them. It was at this point Lonal had planned the retreat.

Shigmur waited for the horn notes from the hills. Soon they came. Carry on, they said.

So be it. Shigmur lifted out another arrow, making sure he got none of the oil on his hands, and reached for his striker. The T'lil began to close in again.

Why didn't they stop? Jheheph was no longer amused. The barbarians had lost the advantage of the dark. His own mercenaries were out among them now, breaking their formation. Yet the fire arrows kept falling. Suddenly, Jheheph jumped to his feet.

"That's one ofmy wagons!" he yelled. His slaves tried to snuff the blaze, but it got away from them. A cargo of rare birds and their cages began to go up in smoke.

The caravan master ran over to the sorcerers. "Do something!" he cried.

The thin, effeminate man was startled. The arrow he was warding struck the coach of one of Jheheph's concubines. Jheheph was incensed.